Vice Versa
by Kage NoTenshi
Summary: The Bakuras, the abuse, but in a way you’d never expect. (Non shounen-ai, one-shot)


I wanted to do something different with the Bakuras.  Therefore, this.

Disclaimer: I went dancing in the rain today…Irish dancing.  If you think I own Yu-Gi-Oh, you're as crazy as me.

            I stood over his crouched form, the knife clutched in my hand.  Its blade dripped with blood, his blood.  Silent though he was, I could easily see the agony flecked in his brown eyes, their color reminiscent of his blood-matted hair usually so pure and pale.  A sobbing, laughing, shuddering breath ripped itself from his lungs as he slumped against the soul room wall.  He looked up at me, and I locked gazes with him, my yami.

            _Yes, my yami.  That's not right, you say.  I, poor Ryou, ought to be the one on the ground.  I am the one who is abused, bloodied, and pained.  _

_            So you say._

            I dropped the knife suddenly, feeling as if a sudden weight had dropped from me.  I felt my yami's eyes following me as I fell to my knees, the bitter tears streaming down my face.  I reached out and covered an open wound on his leg with my hand, trying to stop the blood.  He gazed at me silently, his face pale and drawn, watching me weep.  

            "I'm sorry," I whispered.

            His eyes narrowed with slight pleasure.  "See, little hikari of mine?  You must not disobey me like that.  Such rebellion calls for blood, and we know you do not like that."  He put a scarlet-stained hand under my chin and raised my face to look at his, now battered and bruised from my assault.  

            _This does not make sense, you say.  Perhaps it doesn't; reality never does.  I suppose I'd ought to explain._

_            The first time I really outright defied my yami, he beat me as you may have heard elsewhere.  That night has etched itself in my memory, though it was soon eclipsed by other greater troubles. _ 

            "You are to obey me without a second thought!" he snapped at me, whipping his hand across my face.  

            "G…gomen nasai," I whimpered, curling up defensively.  

            "Little fool," he sneered, kicking at me.  "You have nothing to gain by disobedience and everything to lose!  Think about it."

            I clutched a particularly painful spot on my arm, wondering how big the bruise would be.  

            "Are you listening?"

            "Yes, sir…master…"

            "Good."

            _But you've heard all that before.  Besides, that phase didn't last very long._

            "Do you know what this is, Ryou?"

            I looked at it with fearful eyes and felt my whole being begin to tremble.

            "Very good.  It's called a knife.  I haven't used one on you before, but there's a first time for everything, ne?"

            I did not move as he approached; I couldn't.  I saw the gleaming blade advance and slit neatly through my sweater and shirt.  I watched in mute horror as the crimson liquid burbled up from within me, coming out where it should not have trespassed.  I vaguely heard my yami laughing before a sudden darkness swallowed me.  

            Then, suddenly, a stinging slap brought me back to reality.  "Baka," my yami muttered.  "Can't you even stay awake after a scratch?"

            "It hurt," I said defensively.  "And I…I don't like blood."

            He frowned.  "That's no fun if you pass out when I try to punish you."__

            I didn't comment, afraid to show my hope lest he quench it suddenly out of spite.  

            He looked at me with a gentle expression full of sadistic undertones.  "You don't like blood, eh?  Perhaps that can be of use to me."

            _He never physically hurt me after that.  Yet it was only then that the real trials began.  With his discovery began a new grim ritual of punishment, one so twisted I could not see how he even thought of it._

            I didn't know what he meant.  It scared me, but despite his warnings, I couldn't avoid Yuugi.  I ended up spending the afternoon with that little group of friends, unable to give a valid excuse for avoiding them.  So it was that I crept into my soul room that night, fearful of what he would do to me.  Maybe he knew some way to keep me from escaping into unconsciousness.  I decided I'd better apologize in advance.  I started talking as I wandered the corridors of the ring.

            "Um…Yami?  Er, Master?  I'm back.  I'm really sorry I – GHAAAA!!!"

            He jumped slightly at my yell and looked at me with slight annoyance.  "What?"

            I stared at him uneasily.  He had been sitting on the floor with his knife, calmly carving a random pattern into his arm.

            "What are you doing?"

            "I'm irritated," he responded calmly, going back to work with his blade.  "You were talking to the pharaoh's hikari and you didn't even try to steal the puzzle."

            "Then…why…"

            "Why am I hurting myself?  Well, I find blood very satisfying when I'm annoyed.  And you only pass out when I try to use you."

            I covered my mouth in revulsion and then put a hand on the handle of the knife.  "Don't do that."

            He shot me a ghost of a grin and stabbed himself again, eliciting a small gasp of pain.  "Why not?"

            I resisted the urge to retch.  "It's disgusting.  I can't see how you can do that."

            He flicked his arm toward me, splashing droplets of blood on my face.  I drew back with a soft cry.  He reached out and smeared the crimson on my cheeks, a frightening light in his eyes.  "That's right," he laughed softly.  "You don't like blood."

            I bit my lip as a shudder ran through my body.  "N…no…"

            He smiled cruelly, and I found suddenly that I couldn't move.  I sat paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch as my yami sat back and resumed his carving.  "I don't understand," he started, a mocking edge to his voice, "why you don't find the smooth texture and lovely color so relaxing."

            I shook my head mutely, wanting nothing more than to run and cover my eyes.  I wanted to curl up in some forgotten, distant corner, but my legs refused to obey.  I could do nothing but watch as my yami toyed with his knife and the blood pooled on the floor around him.  

            He grew paler, though still absorbed in his perverse sport, and suddenly I found I could move again.  It was just in time, too, because he dropped the knife and pitched forward, unconscious due to blood loss.  I dragged him into his soul room, away from all the blood, and lay him on the tangled pile of blankets he used for a bed.  I remember he once said it was what he was used to, rather than most modern forms of bedroom furniture.  

            At any rate, he wouldn't die.  I could at least be sure of that.  I could feel my breath catching in my throat as I hurried from his soul room and shut the door behind me.  

            _No, that's not how it ends.  Though I almost wish it could have._

            The next time I angered him was because I asked Yuugi for some help on my math.  I couldn't help it that graphing logarithmic functions confused me.  I couldn't even go to extra help because the teacher had a meeting.  I could sense my yami's frustration as Yuugi also asked about my life outside of school.  I tried to evade the questions, but it apparently didn't satisfy my yami.  

            I entered my soul room that evening, not sure of what to expect.  He stood there, emotionless, the knife in his hand, waiting for me.  To my relief, though, he had not cut himself again.  Suddenly, his hand shot out and grasped my collar, jerking me forward.  A thin, cruel smile crossed his lips as he thrust the knife into my hand.

            I didn't remember anything after that.

            When I snapped back to myself, the knife was still grasped in my right hand.  But now it was soaked in fresh blood and my yami lay motionless at my feet.  I stared at the blade in my crimson-stained hands with horror for a moment, frozen in disbelief.  Then I flung it across the soul room as hard as I could, willing all this horror to vanish.  

            It didn't, of course.  My yami remained on the floor, a small trickle of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth.  He was still conscious, and raised his head slightly to look up at me.  I bit my lip and looked down at him.  "Why?" I asked miserably.  "I don't understand."

            He gave a slight smile.  "You…did quite…well," he said slowly.  

            "What?"  

            He raised his hand slightly, and the knife slid on its own accord across the floor until it stopped between us.  I looked down at it.  Its handle pointed toward me, and its blade toward him.  "You'll…learn yet…" 

            I backed away slowly, shaking my head in disbelief.  The knife followed me, its handle still waiting for me to grasp it again.  Suddenly, I whipped around and bolted from his soul room, slamming the door behind me.  In my own room, I slid to the floor, still staring at my bloodstained hands.  I wanted to be sick, or to scream, or to cry, but I couldn't.  All I could do was sit shivering on my soul room floor, staring miserably at my bloody hands.

            _And then it got worse._  _He started to keep me conscious while I hurt him against my will._

            The painful sweat slid down the side of my face as I fought the magic controlling me.  I tried to please my yami, if only to avoid this ordeal, but it was never enough.  I winced as my hands brought the knife down with a will of their own, slashing his shoulder.  He sank to his knees, his eyes blank.  Why would he force such a horrible punishment on both of us?  I often wondered that too.  But I also had an answer.  It was because for every wound I inflicted upon his body, I suffered double the agony within my soul.  

            I saw the knife add to the lacerations on his chest.

            The agony was all mine, if only because I was cursed with a gentle heart.  Cursed…that is a word he would use for such a trait.  Perhaps, slowly, he was creating me to be a duplicate of himself, to help him in whatever crime he chose.  

            I watched him sink slowly to his knees, the blood dripping like unholy tears down his face from a wound on his cheek.  

            I felt the control lift from me, leaving behind only painful relief.  I threw the knife as far as I could, letting the sobs choke me.  I knelt in front of him, putting my hand on the wounds, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.  He looked up, his agonized eyes meeting my tear filled ones.  "I'm sorry," I whispered, my tears watering his wounds.

            His lips moved faintly as he fell forward, whispering in unison with me. 

            "I'm sorry."


End file.
